Sons of the Bat
by Vampykitty-kun
Summary: Despite all of their differences, Jason always knew what lines should never be crossed. Granted, he frequently pushed the boundaries of those lines. Series of One shots, all a part of the same 'story' various characters/pairings Rated 'T' for now
1. Crossing lines

Well, I suppose I'll be putting together a series of one-shots that could be read together as a part of the same 'story' while still being great on their own. Updates for this fic will be at random, sometimes multiple times a week, and sometimes I'll be absent for months at a time. Rest assured that I'm never really gone for good

Fics will take place in various time placements. Some will have no pairings, and some may have multiple. Some fics may have slash pairings. If so there will be warnings at the beginning of each installment for everyone's convenience.

Reviews are appreciated.

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**Warnings:** Mentions of past violence and a sexual encounter

**Pairings:** None

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Despite all of their differences, Jason always knew what lines should never be crossed. Granted, he frequently pushed the boundaries of those lines.

Bruce had very little tolerance for him, and while that irked him, it amused him all the same. Dick was more forgiving. Despite all the wretched things he had done, the acrobat never stayed cross with him for long. Or at least, he didn't think so. Dick had always been the more cheerful one of the bunch. Tim had always been weary of him (first impressions clearly mattered more than Jason had cared to notice) and frequently questioned his motives and beliefs, but they had their moments.

And Damian?

The hatred was mutual.

Perhaps it was being Bruce's biological son that irked him most. That the Dark Knight did not judge the child so harshly despite the numerous sins the young boy had committed, likely because he was his own flesh and blood and he sought to make the best out of a bad decision and try and turn it around. Or maybe it was because he was a snarky little bastard with a sick sense of humor. Regardless, Jason hated the child and made little effort to be pleasant with him.

Jason frequently got into verbal battles with them all (on top of numerous physical ones that usually concluded with numerous fractures, dislocated limbs, and various stab wounds), and Jason knew all the buttons to press. He knew how to cut to bleed then rub salt in the wounds. But as previously stated, Jason knew what lines not to cross.

A common source of angst for everyone was their parents. Bruce lived his life grieving and avenging his parents in his own personal way. Jason had always felt that the subject of his parents had always been taboo, and he never dared a snide comment aimed at them. As much as Jason loved to see Bruce hurt, he never wanted to agitate the wound that would never heal.

Dick kept hold of his memories tightly, the good and the bad, and lived his life as fully as he could, keeping his moral code in check. Dick was sentimental, emotional, and could be downright scary if pushed over the edge in regards to something he felt strongly about. Jason was content with letting that sleeping dog lay.

Tim's parental wounds were fresh. He still had his moments of profound grief. He had had the pleasure of biological parents longer than any of the rest of them had, and that would likely make the loss hit harder that it had the rest of them. In a way, Jason was jealous, but he respected the boy's right to grieve.

And Damian?

Damian was free game. It was just too easy. Verbally bashing the Bat was such an easy way to get the child riled up. He was violently defensive, and an utmost amusement when in a pissy mood. Damian could easily get as vicious and deadly as a cat forced into a bath, and at times Jason had come out of those encounters as bloody as the metaphorical hands washing said cat.

Bringing up Talia was almost as fun, and quite frankly both the boy and woman deserved it.

_"Aww, did mommy neglect to take you to Assassin Babies R Us enough when you were young?"_ Had left Tim laughing hysterically in the next lot when they had all crossed paths one night. Dick had bit his bottom lip in effort to stop the shitty grin from spreading across his face. Old Bats had been absent from the scene, pity. Jason had left Damian sputtering on the roof top as he launched himself into the night laughing his ass off.

Admittedly, there were times that Jason knew he was being overly cruel to the boy (past shooting the child of course). Damian was a strong, proud child that acted like he was going on thirty rather than slowly inching towards his preteens. There were times that Jason admittedly forgot that the demon spawn was in fact still just a little boy, and had the potential for being as sensitive if the right words were uttered in poor taste. So perhaps_ "Mommy doesn't love you, so she pawned you off to the man that has a place in his heart for all the little rejects"_ had been stepping a bit too far over the line, even for Jason's taste. He'd realize it almost immediately after it left his mouth when the child had stopped abruptly mid run and stared at him with wide eyes. He had winced even before noticing Dick's fist headed for the side of his face. He had deserved that one.

Jason hated the boy, and although the lines sometimes got blurred, he was still sure to never outright cross them. Some things would have to wait. Some things were just too sweet to keep to himself, yet lost on a child, so he'd wait for the perfect time someday a few years down the line… with Bruce absent, and escape route secured.

For there was so much that he could do with _"Oh yeah? Well I banged your mom!" _and all incarnations and contexts he could use it in. The ultimate burn. Granted, he would likely be met with disbelief and left with numerous contusions, but it would be worth it. Because taunting one Damian Wayne was always fun.

Brotherly 'love' at its finest.


	2. Shadows of the night

Another addition, this time taking place before Tim Drake was even a thought.

This would have been the 3rd story, but I have yet to complete the other file and thought you would appreciate an update. The stories go in no particular anyway, so it doesn't matter.

Hope you enjoy!

Reviews are appreciated.

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**Warnings:** None

**Pairings:** None

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"I take it that your father doesn't know that you smoke, by how you're hiding up here. Regardless, you're underage."

Jason- No, he was Robin right now, didn't so much has blink at the sudden intrusion. He simply inhaled, taking a deep drag, before flicking an ash off the rooftop. He leaned back against the stone parapet and stared up at the smoggy night sky. With a sigh he turned his gaze to the cross armed commissioner standing just feet away.

"Not hiding, not my father, and none of your concern." He muttered.

Gordon's eyes narrowed as he stepped closer to the youth. With a huff, he snatched the cigarette from Robin's mouth and tossed it over the ledge.

Robin glared.

"You are on top of Gotham City Police property, and you're a minor. That makes it my concern. And considering that Batman has yet to step out of the shadows, and you yourself are sitting in them, I would call that hiding."

"Psh…" He rolled his eyes, not that Gordon could tell with his domino in place. "Whatever, I'll go find another rooftop if you have that much of a problem with it." He snorted, and launched himself into a stand.

He tucked his pack of cigarettes away in his utility belt and reached for his grapple, flicking his cape aside as he stepped onto the parapet.

"You're failing to grasp my point kid." The man sighed. "I may not be able to prove your age, but someone as young as yourself, especially with your choice in profession, shouldn't be blackening their lungs. It'll kill you someday if you keep it up, I would know." Robin raised eye eyebrow behind his mask, and the corner of his mouth twitched upward, earning a concerned look from the man.

"We're all gonna die someday Gordon, would rather it be on my terms than someone else's. 'Sides, been at it for years. Damage has already been done" He chuckled bitterly, clicking the safety off of the grapple gun.

Before he could aim and fire, Gordon grasped his arm tightly, forcing him to turn back briefly.

"Also, take it from me Robin… Blood doesn't mean a thing when it comes to family. Batman may not be your father in a biological sense, but I can assure you he very much thinks of you boys as his sons. Both Nightwing AND yourself, and don't you ever convince yourself otherwise. I've known the man for many years, and although we may not have the closest of friendships, I understand him very well. He cares. He may not be the best at showing it, but I can imagine that he thinks the world of you. Try not to throw that away. You lot have enough secrets that you keep from the rest of the world, don't keep them from each other as well."

Robin opened his mouth as if to say something, but decided against it. Instead, he took aim, fired, and swung off into the depths of the city.

The man sighed, scratching the back of his head as he considered turning on the spotlight to summon the bat. In the end, he decided against it. It was a family matter, and involving himself could possibly make things worse for the pair. He slumped his shoulders, and with another sigh returned inside.

Commissioner Gordon would never know, but as Robin swung through the concrete jungle, tears leaked from beneath the domino and dripped down into the shadows of the night below…


	3. Nightmares

Felt like a longer addition today, and thought today was as good as any to step away from a Jason centered fic to my least visited son of The Bat

Damian as Robin, post return of Bruce Wayne.

Hope you enjoy!

Reviews are appreciated.

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**Warnings:** None

**Pairings:** None

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Damian wasn't sure when the nightmares began.

He was tough skinned. Groomed since birth to be an elite assassin. He cared for no one, feared nothing, and had learned at an early age that if he did not like something he was to remove it from existence like the disease it was. He did not have nightmares, he did not dream, and he did not acknowledge the foolish emotion known as love. He had feasted, and he had starved. He had been wounded, he had been repaired, and then he had sought vengeance which he had executed without a second thought. He mother had never coddled him. His grandfather had never praised him. He had never been waited on. He was self-sufficient.

Damian had never lived as a child. He had always been treated as an equal to the other members of the league. He fought the same battles, received the same rewards, and suffered the same punishments. His age and relations made no difference between him and the grunts that followed his grandfather without question. The League of Assassins had been his world, and he had accepted it without question.

Then, just like that, all of that was gone.

Although he could not pin point the exact start of the nightly terrors, he supposed it had been brought on by the long chain of events that had become his current life.

He was living with his father. The Batman. A man that had morals, and a long list of rules that corresponded with them. He had… 'siblings'… older brothers that were little more than pretenders in his eyes. He had a 'servant' that gave into his every demand within reason, gave into everyone's demands, yet still seemed to rule over the manor without force, or fear, or even the urge to do so. He was treated like a child. He was coddled. He was – loved. It was foreign to him. But even so, he was learning to appreciate it. He liked being fussed over. He liked not feeling on edge, not expecting an attack to come at any moment. Gradually, he was even beginning to accept the three Robins of the past as worthy of being a part of his…family? Family was also a foreign term. Until his arrival in Gotham, all family meant was blood relation. All it consisted of was his mother, grandfather, a father he had never known, and a plethora of long since dead relatives that had existed over the centuries. Now it was something more. It wasn't necessarily limited to DNA. Sure, he still had his mother and grandfather… but they seemed rather unimportant at this point. He now had a father, one who was more than just a contributor to half his DNA. He had a different sort of grandfather in Alfred (one far less violent), who was in turn like a father to his father. He had… brothers, even if they did not always get along, came from all different backgrounds, and they were not at all related in reality. He had even begun to wonder if he was supposed to be considering the women of the bat clan his sisters?

Damian had begun to learn love. Love, he had realized, allowed fear to exist within.

Damian felt fear whenever blood ran from his father's body. It was not fear for himself, it was fear that he would lose the man that had taken him in, treated him differently… loved him, and he had begun to love in return. He felt fear whenever Grayson neglected to check in with his father in a timely manner. He felt fear when Drake ran off to play team mate with the world's other young heroes. He felt fear when Todd left nearly as much of his own blood at a crime scene as his unfortunate target had.

Dreams had come first.

He had not resided within Wayne Manor long when the dreams had started. At first he had been perplexed. It had been unnatural for him to be doing one thing, only to wake up moments later in his bed. Never having experienced dreams before, it had taken him a few nights to realize just what was occurring, that he was not in fact the experiment of neither a cruel joke nor sleepwalking. Once he had realized the dreams for what they were, he had relaxed and accepted them with an open mind. He found that the day's events frequently influenced the events of his slumber. He welcomed this. It allowed him to learn from his mistakes, play things out differently, and act accordingly in the future.

Once the dreams had started, they never ceased.

The first time that he had woken abruptly from a dead sleep in cold sweat he had been severely alarmed. His heart rate had skyrocketed, his breath had come in short quick spurts, and he had stared wide eyed at the ceiling for hours afterwards. The images of his grandfather impaling his father with a sword while he was useless to help, locked in his mother's grasp, haunted him throughout the night. With the lack of sleep, and terror fresh in his mind, he had been quite violent at the breakfast table the following morning, almost putting a fork through Drake's hand. He had accepted the lecture that followed with open arms, simply glad that his cross father was still with the living.

In the weeks that followed, the dreams – nightmares, escalated. Night after night he would watch his father, Grayson, Todd, Drake, even occasionally Alfred, Gordon, and Cain fall victim to the gruesome onslaught of enemies invading his slumbering subconscious. The nights were restless, filled with tossing and turning as he stared into the darkness, desperately listening for the slightest sounds of his family in the rooms down the hall to reassure him that they were still there, that no one had taken them away.

Despite the sight shadows forming beneath his eyes, he hid his rough nights from the other members of the household. Mornings were long, and often argumentative, but he refrained from brandishing the good silver in the presence of Alfred since the first fiasco. Patrol went on in its usual fashion, but with the onslaught of bedtime battles came the appearance of heightened occupational fears. Upon returning home each night, he slowly began to wonder if he was losing his nerve.

He hadn't realized that things had gotten as bad as they had until the nightmares attacked with a vengeance. Weeks of sleep deprivation taking their toll. Damian and the rest of the in house bat family had been in bed only a few short hours after a particularly rough night when the terrified screams ripped through the manor echoing down the halls.

Dick shot up in his bed, eyes wide as he turned toward his bedroom door.

Tim let out a startled yelp as he toppled over the side of his bed, tangled in his sheets.

Alfred shook his head sadly as he turned over in his bed, ever aware of the toll their lifestyles took on the young ones.

Bruce only sighed, and pulled back his covers as a door slammed open and frantic footfalls came storming down the halls.

His bedroom door flung open, and closed just as quickly before Damian dove at him, nearly smothering him. He held the boy tightly as the sobs racked his body. Damian's nails dug into his shoulders as he clung to him, and the tears dampened his shirt. He wrapped the blanket back around the two of them and sighed into the boy's hair, rubbing his back gently.

Down the hall, Tim silently slipped into Dick's room and collapsed next to the older man with a sigh. A sad smiled played across Dick's lips as he looked over at the boy.

"They get the better of the best of us huh?"

Tim chuckled and nodded with a yawn.

"I thought he'd be the lucky one. Looks like I was wrong. Horrible sound he made." He murmured, curling against Dick's side and pulling the covers up around his neck.

Dick eyed him and sighed as he settled back against the sheets himself.

"Yeah… but growing up like he did he's sure to have plenty of demons. It would be a miracle if he had escaped that side effect. It's nothing Bruce can't handle though. After all, we've all had our moments, whether we like to admit it or not. Couldn't even count how many times I've run into the man's arms in hysterics."

Tim smiled.

"Me either."

Slowly but surely, the two past Robins drifted back into a deep sleep, taking comfort in the fact that they were not alone as surely, after Damian's emotional outburst, they two would likely be in for a long night.

The following morning was spent in silence at the breakfast table. Damian look exhausted, and ate his breakfast almost robotically. Bruce read the day's newspaper as he drank half the pot of coffee. Dick and Tim each stuffed themselves with a large stack of pancakes, keeping themselves busy as to avoid something that would cause various death threats to spew from Damian's mouth. When breakfast had been dismissed by Alfred, and the two assumed they were safe the boy's potential venomous outburst, Damian proved otherwise. Without warning, Tim was tackled from the side and pinned against the hallway wall, leaving Dick to wonder if he should attempt to save his brother, or run for it. He ultimately decided that the later would likely result in Damian pursuing him anyway in a high speed pursuit through the manor (which always resulting in broken statues, vases, chandeliers, windows, etc ) and an EXTREMELY pissed Alfred.

"Now Damian-"

"SILENCE GRAYSON!" The boy hissed, glaring at him before turning his attention towards Tim, who couldn't seem to decide whether or not to be amused, or afraid. "Not a mention of this past night to Todd, EVER, or I will castrate you in your sleep!" Damian snarled before adjusting his shirt, turning on his heel, and storming down the hall.

Alfred, standing in the doorway from which they had come, raised an eyebrow at his retreating form.

Dick and Tim just turn towards each other, and then burst out laughing.

Damian wasn't sure when the nightmares began, nor how long they would affect him so strongly, but he knew where they would take him those nights the 'dreams' were unbearable.

He was tough skinned, but he was still in fact a child, and as much as he hated to admit it, only human. He had been groomed since birth to be an elite assassin, but now lived as the son of one of Gotham's elite, and as a hero in training. He cared for his family, feared losing them, and had learned that not everything could be erased from existence just because he willed it. He did have nightmares, and his father would comfort him, easing the fears away. He did dream, and when he did, they were beautiful.

And although it had taken Damian far longer than most, he now welcomed the emotion known as love.


	4. Brother I never allowed myself to have

This was originally intended to be ch.2, but I only just now managed to finish it off.

It's perhaps not as smooth as previous chapters, but oh well! Hope you enjoy it all the same.

Chapter/Fic #5 is nearly complete as well, so hopefully you won't have to wait very long for it either.

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Dick had initially disliked Jason. Yes, disliked. He had never hated the boy. Hate was such a strong word, and a term he could really only apply to the inmates of Arkham Asylum he and Bruce had put away over the years and the scum that littered Gotham's underworld after dark that they had yet to capture… or somehow managed to repeatedly escape Arkham's walls.

Initially, he had felt betrayed. Bruce had been like a father to him since his parents' deaths. He had fought alongside him for years as an ally, a partner. He had had a warm loving home with Alfred as a Den mother, and a large soft bed to sleep in at night. Then, Bruce and him had their fall out, and that all had changed. He struck out on his own. He left the manor, left the days of being 'Robin The Boy Wonder' behind, and took up the mantle of Nightwing thanks to a helpful pep talk from the Man of Steel himself. He had expected – wanted, Bruce to come find him, demand that he stop his nonsense and come home. He had wanted Bruce to accept him as Nightwing, as a true partner, and equal. But instead, Bruce had given him his space. He let him run the rooftops as Nightwing. Let him escape to Blüdhaven, living in a shabby apartment on a top floor. Bruce had let him down, and in a way, he had let himself down too.

Jason's arrival had left him with the feeling of being kicked while already down. He could see himself being replaced the moment he had seen the boy. He had felt betrayed that Barbara had not told him. Another young kid… another orphan… another parental death that hit close to home with Bruce, this time presumably caused by former Gotham District Attorney, Harvey Dent – Two Face. The similarities were something Bruce had to have realized.

Except this time, the boy was nothing special, at least by their standards. HE had been born an acrobat. It was in his blood, in his heart, and in his soul. Life traveling with Haly's had fed his fire. Acrobatics, knife throwing, speed, incredible hearing, and eyes like a hawk. It was almost as though Dick had been groomed for crime fighting. Dick wasn't bragging. Not at all, he was simply giving facts. He came into Bruce's world already born a 'Robin.' He was THE Robin. The name had always been his, never Bruce's to hand out at will.

Jason had been born and raised in crime alley. His mother (or Step mother as they would later find out) had been an addict and sick, his father little more than a common criminal, and presumably died like one. That knowledge alone should have been a warning sign for Bruce. He should have known that this child would not be even remotely like him. He would not be a kind, loving, happy-go-lucky son out of habit and gratitude. Bruce would have to earn the child's respect and trust, if he was even capable of trusting unlike so many others who are taken off the streets in the most normal of cities. Jason would not be an obedient little Robin – it had hurt that Bruce had given the boy HIS name, HIS colors. He would not be forgiving to the criminals, he would not be gentle, and he would not be naturally merciful. Even Alfred knew Bruce would be fighting a losing battle. Jason was not an innocent little boy. Crime alley was hell, and he had been living in its very streets, getting by doing god only knows what. Dick tried not to think about it. After all, he had seen Gotham at its worse, and the thought of a child being at its mercy was a nightmare. Attempting to steal the Batmobile's wheels was admittedly the best thing that could have happened to him. There was no denying that. In any case, Bruce would not have let him fall back onto the streets, but had he really needed to take him in himself? Bruce had initially placed him in a school for troubled children (which admittedly had turned out to be a mistake as the 'school' had been nothing more than a recruitment center), but he had later gone and retrieved him. Had he needed to expose him to their own dark world? Bruce would argue that making Jason Robin was the only thing saving him from becoming just as bad as the criminals around them. Dick had always thought that exposing him to the world's true horrors on a nightly basis would probably harden his heart more, and it had.

He disliked the boy even before he had officially taken his place at Bruce's side. He could tell Jason knew of his dislike the first night the duo had crossed his path. Looking back, Dick regretted being – well, such a _dick_. Perhaps he shouldn't have taken out his anger on him as he often had. Maybe then things wouldn't be so rocky in the present, and most of their encounters wouldn't end in vicious words or bloodshed.

Things had stayed strained between him and Bruce for a long time. His interaction with young Jason had been limited as a result, but they had had their moments, the good and the bad. As he had predicted, Jason challenged Bruce's authority constantly. He was violent with criminals at times. He was smug, untrusting, and brash. Yet at the same time he was lonely, depressive, and practically craving attention and praise. He was reckless during missions, and self-destructive outside of them. Dick had caught him numerous times slacking off on patrol, curled up on a rooftop or in the crevasse of a building staring off into space, or smoking a cigarette. A handful of times he had even caught the boy drinking, in which confrontations always ended… poorly, to say the least. It seemed that whenever the youth had nothing to do but think, his resolve crumbled and the sense of worthlessness settled in. He had given up on stopping the boy's bad habits quickly, Jason only became violent and defensive when he pressed the issues too hard. He suspected that Bruce never gave up, and likely knew of other habits that Dick himself was not aware of, nor really wanted to be.

Dick found himself constantly frustrated with the boy. He had never been sure if his anxiety was from being replaced, the hell Jason put Bruce through, or if he had genuinely be concerned for the boy's wellbeing. It had been a rough, awkward time for the bat family as a whole during Jason's run, and he had never had the time to fully get to know the young boy like he should have. He had been too preoccupied with his conflicting emotions over Bruce, and his missions with the Titans, and before he had realized it, it was too late.

The night he had gotten the call, he had been on stakeout with Wally. Nothing had affected him so strongly when Jason had been killed, not since the death of his own parents. But as upset as he had been, he hadn't been able to bring himself to attend the funeral. He had known right away that seeing that casket would make things all too real for him, and seeing Bruce in the emotional state he would likely be in would have crumbled his resolve. Looking back, even now, he had always regretted that decision. Visiting the boy's grave once a week for months - careful to avoid Bruce, hadn't eased his guilt one bit. Then before he knew it, had had gotten caught up in Tim.

When Jason had returned, he had wanted so much to make things right. But the conflicted boy had become an angry young man in the process of returning to the living, and had tried his damnedest to alienate all of them, by any means necessary. But still, even after he had gone out of his way to attack each of them, given all of them scars to constantly remind them of him and his 'hate', Dick was unable to hate him, unable to give up on him.

Even now as Jason plowed through the night as Red Hood, Dick could still see that conflicted little boy who had experienced all too much. Jason was still lonely and depressive, regretful despite his reluctance to show it.

Dick still shadowed him on some nights, careful to avoid detection. And just like all those years ago, Jason still sometimes found himself slumped in the shadows, or dangling his legs off a rooftop brooding, hood discarded, cigarette hanging from his lips, and a bottle of cheap liquor at his side. On those nights Dick just sat there quietly and watched the brother he never allowed himself to have curl in on himself as his mind got the best of him.

And should someone decide at some point to make Hood an easy target on those heartbreaking nights, Dick wouldn't hesitate at all to jump into the fray and protect that lost Robin staggering on his feet, nor would he have any qualms about carrying the man home afterwards if need be, even if it wasn't the home Dick would truly like to bring him back to.


	5. Children of the Bat

I honestly love these two. I was so thrilled when they decided to have these two work together for a short time. I'm going to enjoy seeing where DC decides to go with them and what comes of their forming relationship.

This is just a short little thing, to keep you busy while I put the finishing touches on another 'Sons of the Bat' addition.

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Warnings: This acknowledges circumstances from the New 52 and may have spoilers for character identity.  
Pairings: None

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Damian slipped through the skylight window of the warehouse gracefully, closing the window panel behind him gently before padding silently across the rafters. He dropped down into the cover of the shadows, and slunk along the wall making his way through the rows of storage containers, shelving units, and debris as he went.

He made a sharp turn at the end of a row, and barely ducked in time to avoid a crossbow bolt coming at his head. He barrel rolled to the side, immediately sending a batarang in the direction from which the bolt came, narrowly missing the shoulder of the crossbow' wielder. An intentional misthrow as a warning shot.

"Should I even ask how you managed to find this location?" Huntress rose her brows as she stepped from the shadows, fully donned in her costume, sans the mask.

"Tt… Son. Of. Batman." Damian snorted. "Self-explanatory."

"I suppose." Helena nodded to herself, flicking the switch on a lamp as she leaned back against a desk, taking a long drink of coffee from her thermos. "What brings you here?"

The boy only silently stared at her for a few agonizingly long minutes, but she did not pry. Eventually, Damian let out a ragged sigh, and slumped down into the chair across from her.

"To be truthful, you are the only person I can confide in that will not immediately go babbling to Father, Pennyworth, or the _others_." He sniffed, drawing a knee up to his chest. "You are the only… _family_… that I can trust to not judge me harshly on my actions or personal opinions, or murder me on the spot. I have been told confiding in another can be therapeutic. Granted, I am assuming Grayson intended for me to open up to either him or Father, but that is _not_going to happen. "

At this, the Raven haired woman genuinely smiled and let her muscles slacken.

"Indeed. You keep my secrets, I'll keep yours little brother."

Damian would deny it later if asked, but he mirrored the woman's smile afterwards.

He made a point to visit her whenever she was in town thereafter.


	6. Always with your eyes on me

Again, this one kinda came out of nowhere. Still have another chapter nearly finished that's giving me some issues at the very end.

Ah well, more for you!

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Warnings: None  
Pairings: None

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When Tim first began his training with Bruce, it was a bittersweet happening. On one hand, he was thrilled that he was able to actually be in their world. Since he had begun following Dick and Bruce oh so many years ago, he had felt connected to them. They had been more of a family to him than his own two parents despite them not even knowing he existed. The fact that he was there now, down in the bat-cave, working alongside everything he had come to know and love was astounding. Even though he had never once intended, nor dreamt of becoming Robin, there he was being put through the motions.

On the other hand, this had come at a heavy price. He was only there because he _had_ to be. Only there because Batman _needed_ a Robin, because Dick would not come home. They only needed a Robin, because Jason could no longer fill that role. Jason was dead.

Tim would have given ANYTHING for Jason to come back, anything to give Bruce back his lost son, anything to be able to have him right there with him just as though nothing had ever happened.

Jason had not deserved to die as he had.

When Tim had first begun training with Bruce, the case had spooked him. It was almost as though he could feel Jason's eyes boring into his back whenever he was within range of the opaque lenses of that mask.

It had taken some getting used to, and making peace with it when no one else was around.

When the first week of his apprenticeship had been coming to a close, Tim had found himself alone in the cave for the very first time. Alfred was up in the kitchen, and Bruce was out on patrol. Nightwing had been settling some things in Blüdhaven. He had felt the eyes boring into him again, and he had turned to face the case, although rather hesitantly.

He felt a great love for that costume, so fearing it had left him confused. He would have loved to have been able to get to know the boy that had worn it from a personal point of view rather than from him lurking in the shadows. He had often wondered if Jason would have ever left the country at all if he had had someone neutral, out of the loop to talk to… if he had risked his exposure to talk to the conflicted Robin. Tim's stomach always flipped when he thought about it, knowing he could have found out who the boy's mother had been himself, without Jason ever having to leave. But then again, so could have Batman.

He almost caved to the desire of approaching the boy on several occasions, but had changed his mind last second, fearing giving up the one thing in his life that made him feel happy, as Batman surely would have forced him to do.

He had been selfish.

He _almost_ believed the case knew.

He had walked up to the case, pressing a single bare hand to the glass, running it over the cool surface. He had shivered against his will, feeling just as uncomfortable in his skin as he had when he had put Jason's suit on to go save Bruce and Dick. In the end, he had sat before the memorial cross-legged on the floor of the cave, simply staring up at it. He had said nothing, for he was sure Bruce had the cave wired and bugged, but he let his thoughts speak just as loud as words. It may have only been a one-sided conversation, but he had liked to think that Jason had known what he had been saying.

_"I'm sorry."_

"I wish it never happened."

"Would rather see you here than me."

"I could never replace you, never want to.

"I'll try and be worthy, try to make you proud."

"Please give me strength."

"I'll watch over them for you."

Tim had continued to consult the case every once and while almost religiously for years, and had only stopped upon Jason's return, as he no longer saw the point. He was no longer trying to prove himself to a ghost, no longer making promises, no longer trying to prove his worth.

For now? Now he had to prove himself to the real thing… and that approval was something he would have to work long and hard for.

But he would not stop until he had succeeded.


	7. Can't Erase the Past

Wasn't intended to be slashy, but take it however you like to see these two.

Takes place just months after Bruce brought Jason home.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Bruce gave a soft sigh as he pulled himself out of sleep, cracking his right eye to peer over at the quivering form tucked into a seemingly impossibly small space up against the headboard.

It was clearly going to be one of _those_ nights, he thought with a grimace and a wrinkle of his brow.

Jason sneaking into his bed was a regular occurrence, something he had come to expect over the past few months since the boy's arrival, but it was the nights such as these, the nights filled with terrors, that gave him the most concern and quite frankly, broke his heart.

Jason had experienced so much in his short life, more than he would likely ever know because Jason just wasn't telling, but he knew enough. Things were not hard to piece together between what the boy HAD offered up, his upbringing, his mother's habits, and just some of the things Jason would say or do… he only wished that there was something he could do, something besides simply putting the kid in costume, besides loving him, besides giving him the best he could offer from then on out.

But nothing could take away the past.

He knew that better than anyone…

With another sigh, heavier than the first, he freed his arm from the cocoon of blankets wrapped around his large form, and reached out to the boy. Jason flinched upon contact even within his turmoil riddled deep sleep, and he acted fast, pulling the child away from the top of the bed and into a deep embrace, tucked against his chest. He curled the blankets closed around them, ran a soothing hand through Jason's raven locks, and held him tight.

It took time, but Jason eventually stilled and calmed, and Bruce was able to drift back off to sleep.

They never talked about these nights in the morning… they were both private people, but Bruce liked to think that they were good for both of them, nights where both of them were free of their mental terrors.


End file.
